Mission
by Texcatlipoka
Summary: A story of what happened to Nullah while on Mission Island. As an aborigine, he had already learnt how to forget. Now, surrounded by an unfriendly world, he would learn how to forgive.
1. prologue

**This is a story I based on the time Nullah spent on Mission Island. Some details may be inaccurate to the film but I tried to keep historical details as accurate as possible (often difficult considering Mission Island doesn't exist and a mission for half-caste children was never situated there). This means the Darwin bombings took place on February 19****th ****1942. I am assuming it was the same in the movie, but it may not have been. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the movie Australia. If I did (and if he was still alive) the Drover would have been played by Steve Irwin. **

_--_

_Telegram from Mr N. Fletcher to Sgt. E.H. Callahan, received 9th December._

Get your act together and find the creamy STOP Remember also that the law can turn on its enforcers especially if they do not do their civic duties STOP Will telephone to pass on details STOP The time has come Callahan STOP

_Telegram from Sgt. E.H. Callahan to Mr N. Fletcher, received 10th December_.

Have taken note of your advice STOP Believe I have knowledge of the whereabouts of a half-caste STOP Will bring him in immediately STOP

_Telegram from Sgt. E.H. Callahan to Mr N. Fletcher, received 12th December._

Have the half-caste in my custody STOP Am heading towards Darwin now STOP Have also apprehended King George, suspected murderer of Lord Maitland Ashley STOP Should be there tonight or tomorrow morning in time for final boat to Mission Island STOP

--

_Official Document- original format is not reproduced here._

Date: 12/12/41

_Location:_

North-Western Territory, Faraway Downs Cattle Station.

_Name:_

Nullah (no surname given).

_Descent: _

Aboriginal mother (Daisy, deceased) and unknown father of white-Caucasian descent.

_Reason for Removal: _

Environment not conducive to the upbringing and education of a half-caste child.

_Signature- I recognise and affirm that all of the above details are, to the best of my knowledge, true, and assert that in the course of the removal all necessary procedures have been followed:_

E.H. Callahan.

--

**That was just a prologue, obviously, considering the title. I have most of the story already in words so I can assure this story won't die in the process of creation. However, I don't have access to home internet at the moment (posted this through the library), so posting depends on whether I have time to get to the library. That's why I've posted three chapters in a go: I can't guarantee when I'll update again, but it could be a week or more. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Brother John, though not (I don't think) named in the movie, is based on Father John Mcgrath, who was 'conducting missionary work' on Banthurst Island at the time of the attack. The island was never actually used for the Mission, however, and besides all the aborigine/mixed race children had actually been evacuated from Darwin with everyone else. **

_**Anyway…**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Australia**_**. **

--

_Journal of Brother John, Dec 12__th__. All entries are in shorthand._

Brother Frank arrived today. I greatly appreciate the hand. Until recently it was only I, Brother Alistair (who is really only a cook, and not good enough for anything else) and Sisters Catherine, Margaret and Hope in charge of forty boys.

He was in time to catch a glimpse of a half-caste brought in for transportation tomorrow, as he met me there whilst I was signing some credentials for the boy. I am afraid to say he was a little disturbed; nevertheless, I have known him a long time and have much faith in his ability. He was overtired, and besides it was too late to get any reasonable amount of sleep, so we sat up talking. He has greatly matured since we last spoke and I am very impressed by him.

Tomorrow we transport the final batch of children to Mission Island, conveniently at almost the same time as the final civilian evacuation. That is sure to cause a stir, but I cannot believe the island will really be attacked. I have faith in God to protect us- and confidence that if anyone can keep the Japanese too busy to attack a small semi-evacuated town in Australia, it is the Americans.

_Brother Frank's diary, 13__th__ December _

I am afraid I will probably be able to write only a load of babble for this first entry into my new journal. What use is there in trying to express in words emotions we can barely grapple with in our own minds? Enough to say that my whole body tingles in apprehension.

Last night's journey to Darwin was exhausting, and I wish I could sleep, but right now there is no time. We- by which I mean Brother John and myself- are busying helping the rest of the children onto our boat. I am watching them step on now, as I write. Most do not look at me.

There are, I imagine, twenty or thirty to come (must ask brother John for the exact figure- don't want to appear the fool), and then we leave for Mission Island. There's a heavy feeling in my stomach at the moment; I imagine I am uncertain of the future, and am becoming anxious. See, now my hand is shaking. I must try and calm down. I am sure brother John can aid me- he always has done before, and-

Hold on, there seems to be a bit of struggle going on up there. Oh God, it's that boy they picked up last night! Who is he talking to? I can't see past them… It is Lady Ashley! She is in a terrible state, and John is becoming frustrated. I'd best go up and see if I can help…

… No matter, he is coming now. I expect I will be needed to help with getting off the dock. I can't imagine why; but Brother John always finds me some work to do.

… Back again. That tingling sense of anticipation has left me. There is a terrible sense of mourning on the boat now, though perhaps I am the only one feeling it. No, not the only one… that child Lady Ashley was talking to has still not left the stern. Somehow I doubt he will. Oh Lord, this can't be what You intended! Separation is such a dreadful thing; but I suppose sometimes necessity makes it inevitable. Brother John assures me that aborigine children soon forget their guardians and find new ones… regardless; he is clearly dejected at the moment. I think I will go and speak to him and see if I can be of some comfort. If I remember what we said I will transcribe it tonight. I have had enough of writing for a while…

… _Later. _I managed to get a conversation going with the half-caste boy. A profound dialogue it wasn't; but I still feel it worthy of transcription. There is something in him that (I can admit it to myself, at least) intrigues me. He isn't like the other boys here. Our conversation, anyway, was brief:

"Hello. My name is Frank." As I introduced myself he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye- it was a disinterested action. I sat down. "What's your name?"

"Nullah," he said, without looking round.

I was persistent. "Nullah," I repeated. "I like that name. It sounds like the waves. Names shouldn't just be labels… don't you think?"

He made no reaction.

"As for me, I hate my name!" I tried to be jovial. "Frank- it is a dreadful name to be given. It is the pronunciation that does it. People always find it a little more difficult to take you seriously when you're called Frank."

But still he didn't react to me, and I was a little crestfallen. Suddenly I felt very lonely, isolated as I was by my own endless talk with no one else's for refuge. I had now tried flattery and joviality, and neither was working. I felt a wave of pity for the boy, and for whatever hardships he was and must still be suffering. But I didn't know what to do.

I suppose as a priest my reaction was... predictable; but I learnt today that there isn't one answer to all problems. I reached for my bible. As I did so I asked if he wanted to hear a story; and went on to expound the wonders, the comforts, the inspirations of the Good Book. As I talked I caught another glimpse of his left eye, with which he looked at me again, and his expression this time was somehow changed: less detached perhaps, less defensive. But as soon as I mentioned that it was the bible I intended to read from he turned away from me again, and I found myself speaking to a lost, weary soul once more. There were a few moments where only the sea breeze was there to comfort us with its sound. Then he said, slowly and thoughtfully:

"All 'em bible stories, they all about that same white fella', Jesus. They're all about sayin': Jesus, he great, he do great things for everyone. But I been thinkin', he only heal sick people, and sometimes make wet stop, or singin' fish. He not heal the land; he just another _gulipa_- another magic-man, but from far, far away. So maybe he not worth all them stories."

I stopped to consider this. It was a sad way, I thought, to interpret Jesus' work, and I wondered where he had learned to think of the bible in such a manner. At length I said: "I hope you reconsider that some day, because Jesus did more than heal the sick. He loves every one of us. And he cares for us. When we are sad, he is also sad; and he wants us to be happy."

As I said this Nullah turned his face towards me for the first time; but it was with a look of bitter resentment that I first saw him. I realised I had made a terrible mistake, been far too bold in my preaching. His gaze lingered on me for a minute, and I felt humbled under his eyes. He said: "Jesus loves me? If it weren't for that Jesus, I'd still be back home, with King George, and Mrs Boss."

He sobbed suddenly and looked away again. I barely caught his last words: "And mama'd still be here…"

The rest of the journey, though short, was painful. It took me thirty seconds to find Nullah a shirt (the midday sun must have been intense even for his dark skin) and then I was idle.

In the absence of action, reflection is man's closest neighbour, and at that time our conversation was overripe in my mind. Nullah's face as he turned to me felt like, rather than turning _to_ something, he seemed to turn _away_- to turn away from me, from Jesus, from all of Christianity, and from our mission, from all our intentions. In his expression I saw disillusionment with a whole establishment, with he entire world of the white man. These thoughts, along with my words, I couldn't stop myself mulling over, and so I spent my first hours as part of the mission in low spirits.

A few minutes before arrival Nullah did go off and talk to the other boys. When we got off the boat he was chatting (somewhat half-heartedly) with a boy called Daku; But unfortunately I can't see the friendship lasting very long. Daku is full-blood aborigine, raised on extravagant and ridiculous tales by his father. As such he has both an overwhelming need to prove his superiority and a scathing hatred of half-castes. From his history I am assured that Daku will not be friendly for long, and if I have judged Nullah correctly he will only take so many snipes lying down- but only time will tell.

I must remember tonight to pray for Nullah's happiness. That look of unhappiness I saw him with today was stirring, and more so because it seemed so out of place. It doesn't fit him to be so sad.

_Journal of Brother John, 13__th__ Dec. _

The children are settling in as well as can be expected- as is Brother Frank, whom I sense is already developing an attachment to these boys. It is only the first evening, but my predictions for the future are confident

The boys seem open to conversion. Some have no religion; they were brought up thoughtlessly and have learnt nothing sacred. Others have only tenuous and fanciful mythologies to support them- tales of the "dreamtime" and of wandering spirits- and these will soon crumble under the authority of Jesus' teachings. It is good to be engaged in God's work again.

--

**End of Chapter 1.**

**I don't mind admitting that Nullah's speech pattern is really difficult to tackle. I hope I am doing him justice, and that my addition of vernacular (e.g. 'em) is helpful and doesn't just look like an inflated stereotype. Anyone got any useful suggestions, particularly about how to improve Nullah's speech?**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Australia.**

--

_Brother Frank's diary, 17__th__ December _

It is true what Brother John says- aborigine children are quick to forget. Many of these boys are very happy here, indeed act as though it had always been their home. Those who cried the first night are resting more easily now.

That said, many probably enjoyed the process of forgetting, for they didn't leave much behind them. Many of the half-caste children here are the result of a one-night spree by a travelling Australian, European, or American, with some poor city-going aborigine girl desperate for money. These children never really had loving parents. Others lost much of their family to smallpox (or other infections that us from the civilised West are lucky enough to be inoculated against, but which we still spread to other regions) and had no real direction before they came here. Brother John tells me that aborigine populations have been decimated in the hundred-and-fifty or so years since Australia's colonisation. I understand now the actual aim of this mission, but I find now I have an instinctive repulsion to it. From where do we discover this cold logic? Do we dare to believe that God has made us arbiters of these boy's fates? And there are children who shouldn't be here.

Children like Nullah.

I don't believe the certificate sergeant Callahan signed for one second. "Environment not conducive?" I went to university with Mrs Ashley in England, and even then I was awed by her intelligence and resolve. It was no easy time for women wanting to get an education. We studied the same course- and now she owns a cattle station in Australia and an estate in England, and I am a priest! If anyone has the merit to raise a half-blood aborigine in the right way it is she.

On that note, I don't need to point out that of all the children becoming accustomed to life on the island, Nullah is not one of them. He seems permanently sad, even in good company- he can tell a fine story when he wants to- and I feel for him. Just being here seems to affect him, as though his youth and vitality were literally being drained away into the ground. He still talks to Daku and his gang, but they have taken to calling him "our lil' creamy friend," and he is often the butt of their jokes. I fear that my predictions will turn out correctly.

_Journal of Brother John, Dec 20__th_

Everything is going splendidly. The boys are, overall, co-operative and eager to learn. Brother Frank has proven to be an excellent teacher, and he breathes new life into the telling of Jesus' parables. Weather is humid but excellent- predictably. Rainstorms are frequent but the island is sheltered by its cliffs. Brother Alistair's food is terrible, but edible. Only Lady Ashley's child (a strange-sounding label…) is resistant- infuriatingly so, actually. He can't or won't explain his refusal to reading prayers or singing hymns, and whenever Frank reads from the bibles he disappears. I long to put him in his place, but Brother Frank insists I should let him deal with the boy, and I have faith that he will do a better job than me in bringing him back to the flock.

In five days it will be Christmas. For many boys here this will be their first celebration of it; let's hope it lives up to their expectations.

_Brother Frank's diary, 21__st__ December _

We are approaching the second week of our residency on the island- and, more than that, we are drawing so, so close to Christmas! But I fear that this burden Nullah is carrying will not be washed away by merely time or festivity.

It is grinding him down, slowly. To the uncritical eye he is happy enough: he doesn't cry, or complain, or suffer mood swings. He talks to the other children- he laughs with them- and on occasion he entertains them with a story. He bears the continued pestering of Daku and his hangers-on, who have now dropped all pretence of being his friends. But if you watch him, every day, for a long time, the weight of his unhappiness shows in his every move. He seems to shrink a little, to grow weaker, less vital; as though he were slowly fading away. There is nothing for him here…

…Wait- forgive my stupid talk! I have thought about it, and perhaps there is still something for him yet. I must continue to talk to him and try to get through. I think he doesn't hate me, at least, so I must be as much comfort as possible. Then, if I can show him the right way- Jesus' way- I believe his few months or years of suffering will be worth it.

For the first time today I saw Daku use physical aggression against Nullah. Nullah was walking by the sea, kicking the stones, when Daku approached. He was alone. Daku swaggered up talking, with the pretence of being jovial, but he kept scoffing and sneering at things, rambling tactlessly about storytelling, and parenting, and any other topic that he hoped would strike a raw nerve with his target.

Now, Nullah made it quite clear that he didn't want to talk, he said he'd had enough of listening to Daku's babble, and that he wanted him to go away. Nullah never talks a great deal, but I was surprised by his curtness. Apparently so was Daku, for he became very temperamental at this point, pacing angrily in Nullah's path, and muscling up close to him. Throughout this Nullah looked at him sort of bemusedly, like he was observing some curious ritual, and this only served to make Daku even more upset. I saw him throw a quick, heated glance at the dorms- doubtless to check Brother John was not looking- and then he shoved Nullah hard in the chest. Nullah staggered; if it weren't for his obvious agility he would have fell flat in the water. I watched anxiously to see if Nullah would respond, because if a fight were to break out I was all too eager to get involved and catch Daku in the act. But he didn't. I think Nullah doesn't want to fight. Gentleness seems a very fitting virtue for him; he has such gentle movements, such a gentle voice and manner. But I know as well that he has seen hard times, and he has iron strength somewhere in him that will only tolerate so much. If Daku persists there will be violence not of a childish variety.

_Brother Frank's diary, 24__th__ December _

Christmas Day in one long night, and I'm almost as excited as the children! Well, some of them at least- Nullah is no happier. Nothing seems to revive him. I am as sure as ever that there is an unhappiness in him that runs much deeper than just unwillingness to be here, or homesickness. I can tell without doubt that he has seen Christmas Day celebrated before. Missing the party at home? Maybe, but I must try not to let his dejection be contagious, and enjoy myself even if he doesn't.

I have discovered another thing about Brother John: he has the power to summon up a Christmas Spirit completely from nowhere, and very tangibly as well. I only today noticed that the fronts of the dorms are covered in paper chains. I have no idea how they got there, or how long they have hung there; they just suddenly appeared. And Brother John has only now made me aware of the truly gargantuan Victoria sandwich and the shipload of mince pies he has waiting for tomorrow. No sign of a Christmas pudding, but I shouldn't complain. God only knows where he got what he did from, in the middle of a war; or, for that matter, where he hid them all this time. Brother Alister hasn't got half the skill to make a Victoria Sandwich- besides; he is Australian and probably doesn't know anything about cakes. I can't bring myself to imagine that Brother John baked them... no, I think that's a fair gambit. I must have done it in my sleep.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow. Brother John has planned out everything and it should be a fantastic Christmas- if everything goes according to plan. Hopefully all the cheer will make Nullah at least a little happier- but unfortunately I doubt it.

I can't promise myself an entry for tomorrow, as I shall definitely be tired by the evening. Besides, I am sure the day will be memorable enough to survive without transcription.

_Brother Frank's diary, 25__th__ December _

This morning the sun was greeted by an ear-splittingly overenthusiastic rendition of 'Come all Ye Faithful.' We awoke early for a special prayer, and a sort of half-service. I told the boys the tale of Jesus' birth. And as the sun first reached over the lip of the ocean I thought there couldn't have been a happier island in any ocean in the world.

Brother John is an astonishing man. He is generally a strict disciplinarian, never missing an opportunity for chastisement, but today he seemed to transform into the Good Samaritan, or perhaps into old St. Nicholas himself. Suddenly these half-caste and aboriginal boys, with whom he had no connection but as their teacher (by force), was like their father to them. His entire businesslike demeanour was gone, and he was cheerful and happy with everyone who talked to him, telling jokes in a way I couldn't have believed possible, and laughing along with them. Suddenly he was not just respected and deferred to, but loved and cherished. Together the boys and he (and I- though I was often a little coerced) played all sorts of ridiculous games, some of them traditional, some completely improvised, in an order more or less decided by when they came to my tutor's mind. He didn't pause for one second; any boy who was bored with the general atmosphere of festivity turned to him, and was soon entertained again.

And then the cakes were brought out, and it was truly like Christmas! Everyone cheered and went wild, and one boy (who is particularly partial to our tutoring) got a unanimous 'three cheers' going. The food was laid out on a table outside, and there was an impromptu saying of grace followed by a frenzy of gluttony. For forty minutes there was no-one with a hand free of Victoria sandwich or mince pie.

During this time I thought of Nullah not once. I was as engaged in the celebrations as everyone else. Indeed, John's persona was so magnetic that I felt just like one of the children, and though I was reluctant at first I soon lost myself in the cheer and festivity.

Finally, at about 3pm, Nullah came down to get some cake. He had been watching from the side the entire day; every now and then he would cast furtive glances at the groups of boys, playing and laughing, or at Brother John as he told some ridiculous story. He had a far-away look in his eyes, and I guessed that he was seeing images from a Christmas not spent on this island. Whatever the reason for his unhappiness, eventually the Christmas Spirit got to him, and soon he was by the Victoria Sandwich. I saw him from a distance and looked on, glad that he could enjoy the festivities like the rest of us. But at this moment Daku approached him, followed closely by Orrin and Odern.

Daku's expression was by this point characteristic of him: I could see the sharp white teeth as he gnashed them together, see the nerve twitch in his jaw. His meaty body was tense in apprehension as he pushed right up close to Nullah and said something quietly, in their native tongue. Nullah answered briefly, in English, and scooped a piece of cake into his dish.

At this point I was worried, and I moved as inconspicuously as I could to a position very close to the table, where I could hear their words. While I walked I saw Daku snatch the dish from Nullah's hands, and take a bite of the cake, saying through chomping lips:

"Creamies oughta be served last, it's only fair- and Nullah agrees, right Orrin? Right Odern? In fact, in _my_ opinion, maybe creamies ought not to be havin' any cake at all. Much too nice for 'em, it could only do them harm."

Nullah's back was to me, but I could clearly envision the look in his eyes. He seemed to shrink a little, and for a moment his body coiled like a spring; but then he relaxed. Calmly he collected another piece of cake. Daku snatched it away furiously.

"Bloody creamy!" He held the cake out of Nullah's reach. "You should ask fella's like me for good food like this- proper black aborigines, with proper ancestors, not halfbloods like you. You ain't worth nothin', so ask me for it, go on! If you want it back, you gotta ask,"

"Gimme the cake…"

"Say please!"

"Please gimme the cake, Daku."

At this point Daku's mouth widened in a smile of utter sadistic triumph, and his whole frame seemed to swell up with his petty and disgraceful victory. "Now you could beg," he sneered. "go on, you stupid creamy, _beg_ me for the cake."

For a full minute the world seemed to stand still. Daku looked at his victim with overflowing arrogance and conceit, his every blink daring challenge. By now I could see Nullah's face, and for a moment there was- and it was my first ever witness of it- a flicker of complete animal panic, of being cornered like a mouse. Then it passed, and suddenly his expression was focused and fearsome. Stepping in, he threw one punch and a second in one motion. Daku, off-balance, reeled. One blow after another crashed against his mouth and cheeks, before Nullah crashed directly into him with his whole body. The two of them thundered against the table, sending dishes skittering into the sand, or smashing off the baobab tree with a savage noise. One of them hit the wooden table with a noise like fruit splitting, and before anyone could register what was happening Nullah and Daku were rolling in the sand, kicking and brawling furiously.

It was fortunate I had chosen to move when I did, or someone could have been seriously hurt; but from where I was I could intervene almost immediately. Springing on Nullah (who seemed to be winning) I soon dragged him off- as soon as he was separated he calmed down, and I held him gently. Daku stumbled up flailing like a drunk. His nose was bleeding and there was a gash under his left ear, indicating perhaps who it was I had heard hit the table. Nullah had a bruise above his eyebrow, but it was the change in his eyes that concerned me.

Following custom, my fellow members of authority were the very last to arrive on the scene of this scuffle. John had been away in the trees, chasing the boys with wild abandon, and by the time he arrived there was a reasonably large crowd of onlookers. What he saw was Daku, beaten and bleeding, hurling all sorts of abuse at Nullah, and accusing him of nything that came to mind, and me holding back Nullah by the shoulders. It was clear who was the aggressor here, and once Brother John had dispersed the crowd Nullah was taken from my hands into his, and I can only picture the long talk he must have received.

For the rest of the day a black cloud hung over the island. Every boy understood that this wasn't just a scuffle, born of one of the childish rivalries that are there to be laughed at and cheered on. They understood it as well as they understood their own closeness to the quarrel- in short; any one of them could become involved at any time, depending on the whims of these two boys. None of this was ever verbalised, but everyone knew it was true. Laughter became forced, and Brother John was no longer in his wonderful, jovial mood. Suspicious glances were cast. Daku was all too happy to express his outrage at the turn of events, and this only fuelled an intense feeling of mistrust and tension that was brewing here, now that fists had been swung. A few boys tried to get Nullah to talk to them, but he was unreceptive as usual. Though they soon gave up, Nullah was careful to keep his distance from the majority of the boys, and it was clear they appreciated it.

I won't take the trouble to describe the rest of the day, because it had became more or less normal, just with extra details. Without the happy spirit, and more importantly Brother John's joviality, that had existed before the fight, it was hardly Christmas Day at all, but just a day of the week with a spectacular label, as though some penniless government hoped to impress us with a meaningless ceremony. It was heart-rending, because God had been with us in the morning, and in the afternoon it was Satan looking at us over our shoulders. What a bleak day for Jesus' birthday! I cannot but feel that from now on this diary will be devoted to Nullah's story, because effectively it decides the stories of us all on this island. In some ways it mirrors them as well.

Tomorrow is Boxing Day; let's hope that the bad events of this Christmas can be easily forgotten.

**--**

**End of chapter 2**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****Australia****.**

**By the way, if you read, please review.**

--

_Journal of Brother John, Dec 25__th_

All was running smoothly but Nullah chose this time to reveal his true colours. He and Daku were in conversation, which quickly turned to argument- then Nullah flew at him with his fists. The celebrations are ruined; the atmosphere here is heavily weighted by this half-caste's actions. I shall keep a close eye on him in future.

_Journal of Brother John, Dec 28__th_

Overall, the news is fair. Not even a month into our mission and already some of these boys are showing signs of conversion. Most are, at least, co-operative. Nullah continues to be otherwise. I do not understand his resistance to anything Christian, even saying evening prayers for us all. He is stubborn and will not do it; I am loathe to force him but may have no choice. If he can be forced.

Furthermore, the relationship between Nullah and Daku is not improving, and shows no signs of doing so. Nullah is, as ever, standoffish. Of forty boys why must I always find myself writing about him?

_Brother Frank's diary, 29__th__ December _

Finally I found an opportunity to talk to Nullah alone today. Not, of course, that he is always surrounded by friends. Usually he is alone, and I could have spoken to him almost any time, but… I suppose I was scared. I had spoken to him only once; I had no idea how what he would make of me. He might never want to speak to me again, putting him in a position of absolute, awful isolation, and me, I admit, in a state of miserable regret. And as always with only chances, I was terrified of making a mistake, and losing it forever.

So it was with some trepidation that I ascended the steep hillside to where Nullah sat.

We are two weeks in, and Nullah has already developed a number of favourite haunts. I sense that he is in some ways a creature of habit, but most of all I think he likes to be high up, so he can see others coming. Why this wariness should have ever developed in him I don't know; perhaps it is simply a useful trait to an aborigine. Either way, as I clambered the last few feet, with the whole island sweeping away below us, I knew he had spotted me long ago.

He sat hunched in an alcove created by a tall tree and a huge slab of rock. It was a powerful contrast: him so small, with these two great heavy edifices of nature towering over him. It seemed as though they should suddenly fall and crush him, blotting him out of existence entirely. It was a frightening impression to get, because for some reason I had always imagined him active, and full of life, and when a person- especially a child- is like that they seem so much larger and stronger. His shoes, which he hates wearing, sat beside him on the rock, where his hand would occasionally stray to fiddle with the strap.

Below him the entire island, apart from that which was hid by the mountain on our left, was clearly visible. The crescent beach, with its little pools of water, and muddy sand; the two little dorms, tucked like pups into the mountains vast base; and beyond them the thick forest of palms and bushes, ostentatious in their colour in this their few months of blooming; all seemed distant and separate from us. As I turned and looked back over that view I felt most of my fears fade. Suddenly it was just me, coming to befriend another human being. It was a wonderfully simple feeling.

"Hello," I said. I hadn't expected a response but he surprised me by returning my greeting.

"May I sit down?"

"Sure."

"You must be up here hours," I observed. "How do you spend all this time you must have?"

He smiled thinly. "I count the days."

"Until what?"

"'Till Mrs Boss comes fetch me. Mrs Boss said she'd come."

I sighed inwardly, because I knew that he would probably never see Mrs Boss again. But I didn't draw attention to the subject. Instead I said: "I can certainly understand waiting, but why do you need to wait all alone, with nothing to do?"

He shrugged, looking very lost. "I dunno… it's just that all them things I used to do, they don't seem like fun no more. I think, 'maybe I go swim now…' but it don't sound like good fun. So I just been sitting here thinking."

"I often wish I could go swimming with the others. I was an excellent swimmer once. I could swim a mile without slowing," I said proudly.

"A mile ain't that much."

"Yes, but the sea water is much colder in Dover than it is here."

"Where's Dover?"

"South-East England." I put my hands up in confession. "Yes, I am indeed an Englishman. West Country, originally."

His brows furrowed. "Where you learn to swim, anyway? When?"

"When I was young."

"But you a priest."

Evidently aboriginal holy men begin at birth. I was a little stung.

"I did have a childhood, you know. I wasn't always a priest."

I waited for a reply, but Nullah had sunk back into the recess of the tree and rock, looking suddenly very dejected. I realised then that whatever memories he keeps thinking of, don't leave him alone for very long.

"You sure you don't want to do anything with the other boys?" I asked gently.

"Nah. I stay here."

"You want to keep talking?"

"No thanks."

"How about I tell a story then? You could just listen, and if you want you don't need to say one word the whole time. Okay?"

"Okay."

I took a deep breath. I was pleased he had let me start. I know the significance of storytelling to him, so the fact that he would let me tell one felt like a sort of gesture of acceptance.

He leaned his head against the tree trunk. His eyes were closed but I could see he was listening. I was about to begin when he said:

…"No Jesus stories, 'kay?"

"Okay."

So I told him a tale about an Indian merchant who saw a pearl in a jeweller's store. The pearl was so beautiful that it instantly became the shining star of his mind, and that he simply could not be content until he owned it. But he hadn't the money to buy it. So he sold off all his possessions- his jewels, and furniture, and expensive foreign ornaments; but still the pearl was too expensive. So he sold his business as well, and his house, and horses. Then he returned to the jeweller's with his money, but the pearl was so flamboyant that still it was too costly. However, the jeweller saw the look of regret on the man's face, and decided to take pity on him. At first he tried to dissuade the man, but seeing that he was unshakeable in his resolve, said, "If you give me your fine coat, I will accept all the money you have, even though it isn't the whole value." So the merchant sold the very coat off his back for that pearl, and he was happy forevermore.

Thus I completed the tale. Nullah had watched me silently throughout, and as I told the story his eyes seemed to follow me through it, absorbing every detail. Now he was still, digesting it. Clearly it confused him, didn't agree with him intuitively as it did with me, but I could see he was captivated. After some time staring off into space he turned and said, "that bloody good story…"

I was delighted. Truly the power of the bible- for it is, I confess, a bible story- is greater than any other force on Earth. Its texts are enigmatic at places, often ambiguous, often completely anti-rational and sometimes genuinely barbaric; and yet since its inception it continues to inspire and enchant generation after generation of readers, and fill them with its meanings. People from every land in the world, from every culture, and background, male or female, white or black, from Africa, or India, or Russia, or America, or anywhere else, all feel its majesty equally. And here it was again, enchanting another boy, another generation, from as distant a land from its origin as a man can get- Australia. Nothing could have been more alien to him, but still it weaved its wonders. I am pleased to be able to say that I truly believe in the bible, and that if, somehow, it should all turn out to be lies, then at least I was conned by the most worthy, the most poetic lies of all.

With this in mind, I was tempted to come clean and tell him the story's source, but I resisted. He has a natural repulsion to the bible that runs far deeper than the reason he gave to me on the boat on the first day. I think he has fallen prey, like so many others, to Satan's most cunning ploy: the art of transference of guilt. He blames Jesus for being taken here when he should be blaming us.

After this the conversation moved on to small talk, and I learnt a lot about Nullah relatively quickly. All the time he was happy and very talkative; sometimes he seemed to forget all about me, and he would say a word in his native language, which I would have to ask him about.

"What is a _gulipa_?"

"_Gulipa_ is a magic-man. He make the land sing: and that bring in the wet, and make 'em fish come up."

"Like a wizard, then?"

"Yeah, like a wizard!" he cried, in what seemed like an inexplicable overreaction; but I wasn't complaining.

Then he said suddenly: "Why you submit to him?"

"Excuse me?"

"In 'em night-time prayers, you say, 'yours is the power and the glory.' But King George telling me, 'never be a slave to anyone. Even the land can't own your spirit.' So I think, maybe you just being… just being slaves to that man Jesus."

I can tell he didn't like his own phrasing. I was thankful for that. I told him:

"You're right- nobody should be a slave to anyone. But Jesus Christ isn't a man, he is the Lord God, and he deserves our submission, because compared to him we're nothing. But you see, Jesus loves us, as well. Loves us unconditionally, though we're completely undeserving. So in some ways I'm not a slave to Jesus, slave is the wrong word. I love him. I would do anything for him. We are closer than brothers."

After this rather emotional outpouring on my part I felt that Nullah wanted to end the conversation, so I got up. As the sun was by now very low in the sky I suggested he come back down with me. He put his shoes back on and we walked down the mountain together, silent but happy.

I conclude this entry on another positive note. Nullah has made friends- though that is perhaps too strong a word- with Odern, one of Daku's accomplices. Odern is small, impressionable, easily led, and likes to have things both ways. So far I feel he has been of great comfort to Nullah, who at last has someone he can talk to without fear of being suddenly insulted or humiliated. Odern, for his part, regards Nullah as a sort of fascinating study into the lifestyle of the aborigine, which even people like Daku's are beginning to drop in favour of life in the city. In turn he sees Daku as very assured and in control. But he doesn't see that, regretfully, in a conflict like this between Nullah and Daku he will have to take a side sooner or later. It is better that I leave it at that- I don't pretend to know how this will turn out.

_Brother Frank's diary, 5__th__ January _

Daku's bullying is reaching a new peak every day, and what once was only spiteful in nature is now aggressive and remorseless.

Ever an innovator in the only social field he seems to understand, Daku has recently abandoned the middle-man altogether, and he insults Nullah's values, decency, respect, even appearance, directly. He talks unceasingly and flagrantly about how, since Nullah talks so little, he is likely dense, or scared of society, or both; he mocks him for having calloused hands, like a savage (Daku is city-bred). But most of all he likes to insult him for being a half-cast. First he rebukes him, asking him how he dares talk about the ancestors when obviously they hate him for being the spawn of a foreigner, then he denounces him as a child of Satan, made from a sinful act to live a sinful live- and whichever he feels is most affecting his victim, he persists with, elaborating in whatever way comes to mind, with no restrain whatsoever. He deliberately speaks in English so all the other boys- and, I fear, myself- can understand.

Still, Nullah is bearing it well; I can tell he has been through far worse, but even so; there is only so much torment a person is willing to suffer.

His situation is much better now he has Odern to talk to. When they are alone he seems almost talkative, and he smiles- I am overjoyed to see him like this, as it reminds me that, whatever he is like at the moment, once upon a time he was much happier, and I suspect perfectly content. Of course Odern does nothing to stop Daku from having his fun, even when they are together. Sadly he isn't nearly brave enough.

I talked with Nullah again on Thursday (3rd) and today. I told him the story of the two men who built their houses on sand and rock. A furious storm comes, and the man who was lazy and built his house on sand loses everything as his home is swept away. But the man who toiled to build it on rock is safe, with firm foundations. In Jesus' telling he compares himself to the rock, saying that if a man builds himself on Him no force can sweep him away- but I left that out. Apart from a few questions as to geographical location (in Nullah's mind, everything takes place in Australia), he enjoyed it very much. We went on talking awhile, about various subjects, and I gather the reason he enjoys these stories is mostly for their novelty. They aren't like aboriginal tales; in fact they are as different as can be. He promised to tell me one some time, and I was delighted by his enthusiasm.

I greatly enjoy telling him these stories, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing some of their impact by telling stories of Jesus' parables without including Jesus as their narrator. However slowly, I must find a way to help Nullah accept the bible. He is missing out on so many stories, not to mention the greatest ever told...

_Journal of Brother John, Jan 12__th__ 1942_

Clashes between Nullah and the other boys (it is obvious to which group I refer) are as frequent as ever. There is an air of tension about this island that keeps us constantly awake and on alert. I am beginning to worry, perhaps belatedly, for the actual physical safety of some of these boys. Daku is, I know, veteran of more than one fight, and has a hair-trigger temper, but Nullah seems to be filled up with quiet anger. There is a grim shadow of brooding in the curves of his brows and the corners of his eyes that wasn't there when he arrived here. I will keep watching him, but there is only so much I can do.

On that subject, I note the ever-increasing frequency of my friend Brother Frank's absences. Unremarkably they always coincide with the times when Nullah is nowhere to be found. I wish it be made quite clear here that I have no doubt that Frank's time with Nullah is spent entirely innocently; but nonetheless I fear here is putting too much hope in this boy. I admit I am thankful, as it gives the others a moment of peace, and I hope Frank's conversations with him, whatever their subjects, are having a positive influence, but I worry that Frank's motives are misplaced here. He says he sees something in Nullah, but I am not convinced that this power, whatever it is, is real. If it isn't, Brother Frank is being hypnotised, and Nullah is disguising his real character- he has, let us remember, been in one fight already, and he started it.

_Journal of Brother John, Jan 17__th_

Today Nullah was in a second fight, and it wasn't a brief, childish scuffle. I worry now, and I fear that I may have underestimated a problem that could be very real in its threat. I have only Daku's story, and my own view of the last few seconds of the fight, with which to interpret this conflict. How real, how enduring, is their hatred? And, most importantly, who is in need of punishment?

It was lunchtime, and I had gone to congratulate brother Alistair on a fine dish (in reality, the first bearable dish- but a compliment can never do any harm). When I returned I was greeted by a flurry of noise and confusion. Nullah, his stool upturned, was pressed against the table. Daku was leaning over him, and both of them swung and kicked at each other with such speed and violence that I could tell they were doing their utmost to hurt each other. For a second or so I could only observe, stunned- then I rushed over to intervene. I grabbed Daku and dragged him away, but Nullah flew after him. Releasing Daku, I grabbed Nullah by the arm and forced myself between them; and the boy swung around, as though to hit _me_. From the venom in his eyes I could see he had no reservations about doing so; he held back only in his struggle to get to Daku. Fortunately Brother Alistair had followed me out upon hearing the confusion. As I was struggling with the two, he rushed over and seized Daku. Now I could hold Nullah, who fought against my grip furiously and unwaveringly, two-handed. I cuffed hard and, at length, he calmed down.

Later I was able to discuss with Daku what had happened. He insists that he had gone over to make small talk with Nullah, who was eating. He tells me he was attempting an apology ("though maybe a little round about," he said) for his previous actions and trying to be friendly. Whilst they were conversing thus he admits he made a remark that Nullah would have found insulting; but he couldn't have known at the time. No sooner had he spoken than Nullah sprang up and turned on him, swinging a punch. The fight had gone on for several seconds, and mostly by chance he gained the upper hand. At that point, he says, I had come in.

I have spoken to several other boys and all of them confirm this chain of events, though since Daku was standing directly behind Nullah they couldn't hear what he said. Nullah refuses to talk to me about it, whatever I say to him.

Given Nullah's reaction, I have no choice whom to believe, though in all honesty I would have suspected the same myself. Nullah makes sense as the aggressor, somehow. He has no interest in order or regularity. He hates discipline, he refuses to be tutored. On these accounts I attribute my intuitive disliking to him. I will keep a close eye on the matter at hand, but I have forty boys to attend to, so I can hardly resolve the matter simply by playing security guard to them. More worryingly, I cannot hope to guess whether this animosity began on Christmas Day, or was there before. Daku is proud, but for his own sake I hope he has the intelligence to make up with Nullah, or avoid him altogether. Somehow I predict bad things of that half-caste.

--

**End of chapter 3.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with **_**Australia**_**.**

--

_Brother Frank's diary, 18__th__ January_

We were awoken last night by the sounds of shouting and mayhem from the children's dorms, so loud that it could only have been terrible. In a panic Brother John and myself threw on some clothes and rushed over there.

We pounded through the door to a scene of animal-like brutality- and my heart sank to see the aggressor.

Daku was half out of bed, arms over his head, bouncing back and forth under blow after merciless blow. Nullah stood over him, swaying with the effort of swinging his own fists, hitting his tormentor unceasingly in the temple, neck, chest, and anywhere Daku's arms couldn't defend; hitting with such precise violence that he seemed to mean seriously to beat him to death. All eyes were fixed on this scene, and the intermingling shouts and screams, from both Daku and Nullah, and their audience, creating the grim impression of that we were in some ancient gladiatorial arena, or watching a dog fight.

No one looked ready to intervene, though if the decision had not been instinctive I suppose no one could have made the decision through the chaos. Orrin and Odern were on their feet but they cowered back as though from a savage beast. I admit that for a moment we also wavered, for Nullah had taken on a persona of such careless, unbarred violence that it scared us to imagine what he was capable of. Then we rushed forwards, and between us managed to disentangle the two boys. Daku swore and cursed, spitting blind abuse at Nullah, but he just stood stock still in my hold, wearing that terrifying mask of aggression. Brother John told one of the sisters to fetch a cloth and water for Daku's bruises, which were considerable; while this happened I endeavoured to take Nullah outside, but he resisted me, furiously planting himself in one spot, and in the end I had no choice but to physically manhandle him out. Once we were in the fresh air I tried to talk to him and ask him why he had done this, but he wouldn't talk to me at all. He only stared fixedly out to sea.

It was a fleeting emotion, but at that time I was utterly dispirited, and I suppose I felt a sort of burning disappointment with Nullah that bordered on revulsion. Everything I had thought him to be had proved wrong- he was nothing but a cornered animal, acting on instinct.

Brother John finally came out of the dormitory, and Nullah started as though to go back to his bunk; but John, closing the door, glanced at him with intense disdain, and told him that if he was to act like an animal he could sleep like one as well, and that meant staying outside here, by the porch with no blanket. It was far and away the cruellest thing I had ever seen Brother John do, but at that moment my every thought was bitter, and- somehow- I convinced myself the punishment was just. I see now that the fault was in me- I was angry at Nullah, I expected radiant innocence from him. But we are all Fallen and the next day I would relearn this.

That night I began to gradually restore my sense of reason. I was still angry and upset, but I saw- belatedly- that anything I could be going through must be nothing compared to Nullah's sufferings, both physical and emotional, at the moment. I was being selfish, which after faithlessness must be the worst trait of them all, and Nullah had meant something to me since the first day I met him in December. I at least owed him a chance to explain himself, so I decided to get up early and meet him.

I had expected to find Nullah outside the dorm, but when I went to find him he was already awake and gone. I searched for him and eventually discovered him in one of his favourite haunts. It was a little opening in the trees not far from the beach; the ground dipped sharply on one side, and against this there was an indent created by the roots just large enough for him to fit into.

"I think you should tell me what happened," I said.

His response was silence. I sat by him. Being calm was becoming the most difficult thing for me of all. I was still reeling in confusion and shock; something in me demanded answers, and how well I hid it I may never know.

"Tell me."

Miserably he shrank into himself. "You wouldn't like it," he whispered. "It no good story. You'd wanna stop talkin' to me."

"Tell me," I said. "Tell me and I will forgive you."

He looked at me for a second with his searching, appealing eyes.

"Would you forgive anything?" he asked.

"Yes. I hope I would."

"Then… you think I should forgive Daku?"

"Yes." I said sadly. "Whatever he's done, he's not below forgiveness. No-one is. And that's why I know that whatever terrible things you thought, and did, I can forgive you too."

He took a deep breath. Silence echoed in the small space. He glanced up at the horizon in a typical gesture of thought; I waited, tense. At this moment I was sympathetic but angry. Suddenly the morning heat hit me. I realised I was tired from long nights of worry; I was sick with concern. I wanted truth. As these thoughts swept through me, Nullah hung his head into his forearms, and for some time was utterly still; so still that he seemed like almost an empty, soulless shell. Then his head slipped down into the crook of his elbows, causing his hair to fall down the sides of his face, like tears.

For five appalling minutes I heard him sob occasionally, but it was his silence that was truly painful. It was like a confession. Like surrendering, like saying "no more…" I didn't know what to do. I felt like a wraith.

I don't know what happened at that point. Suddenly I was filled with an emotion I can only label sincerity, but that's hopelessly meaningless compared to what it was, and what it is. But suddenly it all made sense. That was what it is. It is a sensation like faith. You don't explain it, and it isn't logical. But when you discover God is real and with you, you know it; and it's the same with a child who is sincere. Nothing is more pure. All my frustration vanished, and when he looked at me again I felt I saw through him into a crystal ocean of radiance. Whatever he said now, I knew my forgiveness would be real.

Nullah swallowed hard and suddenly started speaking, his eyes never leaving me. Even in the middle of such anguish his natural flair for storytelling remained, evident like an irony as he went on:

"That Daku, he comes right up to me and he says: 'stand up and hit me little creamy, go on.' I ask him to please go away, but he no take no notice. He just say it again, puttin' his mouth up right by my ear: 'go on creamy, stand up stupid creamy, and hit me, I _dare_ you to hit me. Go on, or I'll hit you right here, while you're sittin'. Because you deserve to be hit, and I'm gonna hit you standing up or sitting down- but it'd be better for you if you could defend yourself.' Anyway, he say that and I… a little scared, so I stand up, and I hit him. Then he just went mad swinging, and I couldn' get him off, and…"

"That night, I was hatin' so much, I don't know where I was; or what I am doing; or who anyone is. I was just filled up with it, filled up with hate, more than I ever thought…"

He gestured hopelessly, trying to convey the power of being swallowed by an emotion.

"I wanted to kill him," he whispered, with a dreadful finality, "I wanted to finish him, and I no think of nothin' else, that night. I woulda killed him, too."

He looked at me. "You still forgive me?"

"Yes."

"In stories, them ancestors, they'd go all crazy over somethin' like this. They'd have me…"

"Jesus," I told him. "Would forgive you. That is the message of his greatest story of all. And I hope you will let me tell you it, one day."

That is as much of the conversation as I feel ready to record, even to myself. We spoke very little for the remainder, but some of the things he said were about man's darkest secrets of all. He told me things about him that usually we hide until our dying day: stories of the inner devil in all of us, of our most evil temptations.

I don't hold it against him, and I feel a duty to Nullah not to make permanent his confessions. They should fade away with memory.

To my immense shock, Daku didn't even speak to Nullah that whole day. I barely recognised his existence. Nullah was outwardly much the same as usual, but I could tell by now his moods, and I saw he was ecstatic.

I have only now to hold my breath and see what will happen tomorrow.

_Brother Frank's diary, 25__th__ January _

I haven't written anything for six days only because there has been nothing to write about- thank God! Lessons, meals, rest time; I finally find I am something like content.

Nullah is faring much better. Daku is still licking his wounds from his recent pounding- I can't say I have much sympathy for him, but I don't know how long it will be before he starts up with his torments again. Bullying seems to be his only amusement. What a shame it is that some people give in to human nature so easily, and resort to intimidation, to violence, in an attempt to quell their hatred and anger and aggression. I _should_ feel sympathy for him.

My storytelling continues- I tell them to all the boys as a group occasionally but Nullah I talk to especially often. It is the only time he seems really content. I am thankful that I can give him that at least.

He tells me stories now as well. I must admit they are awful. They're all about spirits, tricking and scheming and fighting amongst themselves, and about 'the ancestors' who shaped this land. I can't bring myself to call it a religion. Religion requires intimacy, and where is that to be found here? Really it is just a collection of legends. But I don't let on all of this, obviously. And I must try to keep an open mind, and perhaps find some way to ask him about the roots of these stories, about their meaning, without prompting him to do the same of my stories. That problem is sure to keep me awake now.

On a worse note, if Nullah had held any hope of furthering his friendship with Odern, it was evidently extinguished on the 18th. Odern is spiteful now; I think he feels Nullah, having not lived up to his romanticised expectations, has let him down. He will follow Daku like a sheep. Aside from myself, it seems that Nullah really is completely alone.

P.S. I have heard a rumour that Japanese aircraft carriers have been sighted approaching the Australian continent. How did this rumour get all the way onto Mission Island? No idea at all…

_Brother Frank's Diary, 3__rd__ February _

I have no interest in the world today. All the once-great mysteries, all those half-fabulous, embroidered wonders that we gaze at in supposed reverie, seem meaningless. Music, poetry, nature, what does it all mean? Someone said once that a real fly on a wall is a thousand times more than an imagined angel. I can understand that. For all their enigmatic qualities we know nothing about them, we can only gaze; but we know for certain about people, and there is very little more malicious or more petty.

Do I exaggerate? Well, innocent men are dying even as I write, millions of them, on battlefields from every side of the world. Really this is just an extension of the same evil: Daku is no different from any of the dictators; he simply has less opportunity to exhibit his cruelty. If he had the power to send armies to their deaths, he would do.

But I am very grim indeed: I shall stop soon and get some sleep. Things are always better in the morning- or so they tell the depressed. Suffice to say that Daku is back with a vengeance. The only difference in him is that he is careful to look the victim.

**-- **

**End of Chapter 4**


	6. Chapter 5

**Nice quick chapter here. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am making no money from this.**

--

_Journal of Brother John, Feb 7__th_

Morale is terrible. Daku and Nullah are forever at each other's throats, and from what I can see Nullah is the aggressor. Daku seems always to be on his back foot, at least; but Brother Frank insists otherwise, saying that Daku and his friends torment Nullah whenever I look away. So now I am torn, for I trust Brother Frank, but I don't trust Nullah.

This matter concerns me gravely, because these children shouldn't be growing as Christians and as civilised people surrounded by tension and hatred. I would do something, but the most obvious answers would likely only inflate the situation. I can feel a terrible spell being mixed here, and I can only look on and await its casting. This matter is requiring of urgent thought; I must reach a conclusion soon.

_Brother Frank's Diary, 9__th__ February _

We are approaching a full two months on Mission Island, but I am no more contented with the situation than when we arrived. Of course I talk about Nullah; I think of almost nothing else these days.

What scares me most of all is that when I write of Nullah's 'bullies' I no longer feel I am using the appropriate term. This has gone far beyond just childish torment. Daku's detestation of Nullah was, I imagine, instant, raised as he was on his father's arrogance and insecurity. But since the fight on Christmas Day his loathing has matured into something much more tangible, and just bullying Nullah is no longer enough. Nullah's attack on him of last month can only have strengthened that hatred, matured it into a living, breathing reality.

I find I am seriously concerned for Nullah's physical safety. Daku is easily as unpredictable as Nullah himself, and this is most worrying of all. I have discussed with Brother John, and though he disagrees with my affection for Nullah, he is in the same trap as me- neither of us know what we should be expecting. Nullah is a halfblood, but he is aborigine through and through; and Daku was raised by aborigines as well. These children have been bred into a culture- into an environment- where change is the only constant, where everything is in motion, everything is unpredictable or circumstantial. They are wild, they are uncontrollable, and they follow their own whims and the whims of the spirits in their stories. How can we hope to out-predict them?

I write these things to emphasise just the dilemma we are in, if only so that God can know that I do all I can to find resolution to a problem I feel can only escalate.

_Journal of Brother Frank, February 14__th_

These are not good times. Satan has his hand over us, trapping us in the cage of his icy fingernails, closing tighter, tighter…

Nullah is angry. He hates them with an intensity I shake to think of. I know in my heart that, all considered, he is a fabulous beacon of good, but no-one should have to endure what he has endured these many weeks, with no prospect of respite, only augmentation. And there is a wild, unfettered part of him, buried deep down, that I fear is being slowly realised. It is the savage primordial nature of his land, of the aborigines from whom he claims half his descent- and it scares me. It scares me because is unpredictable, volatile, and savagely indifferent. My time with Nullah is more frequent than ever, but even here I am seeing that faraway look in his eyes whilst I tell my stories- seeing that flash of anger in their corners. From what I can gather from him- he says less than ever- he hates that part of himself, that wild, unpredictable part; but nonetheless it is there, whether he likes it or not.

There is a limit to the number and duration of torments that any man, woman or child can endure. He has suffered so much already, and now he goes on suffering, and in the future he can expect only to suffer more.

Oh Lord, I beg on my knees that you will make him happy again! Such eyes as his weren't made for glaring. Such hands as his weren't moulded for such violent deeds as he has committed; and especially not for those deeds I fear he may, which could be truly terrible.

I have done all I can think of doing, and in vain, and, though my mind is occupied by this nightmare situation in every passing second, I am at a loss. It seems that, as Mary Magdalene witnessed Jesus' death, I am to watch, utterly helpless, as the most undeserving of all is tortured, and defiled, and, finally, falls.

May God show me the way.

--

**End of Chapter 5**


	7. Mulhern's diary

Just a real quickie- something that occurred to me last minute and which I feel has a place in this story. This is not a full-length chapter.

_--_

_Journal entry of Stephen Mulhern, 14__th__ February 1942_

The weirdest thing happened today. I was out late, fishing (strange timings, I know, but the wife was giving me trouble… don't ask), when who should happen upon my boat than a strange half-caste boy. It was really odd; one minute there's just a slight thud, and he struggles up on deck, soaking wet and shivering and half-naked. I was mighty surprised, but when you're a sailor you get used to really unexpected things happening every now and again, and I managed to keep my cool. I sat him down, and got him something to drink, and tried to get him to relax; but he was in a sort of nervous excitement, and wouldn't stop talking. As soon as he could form words he begged me to take him back to Darwin- was practically on his knees, but I stuck to my guns. I told him I had no idea where he'd come from, or who he was, or whether he was a trustworthy little bloke, so I could hardly be expected to just drop him off and forget about it. But all my reasoning only served to make the little fellow more desperate.

It was only at this moment that it occurred to me: he's half-caste- that was obvious- so why not drop him off on mission island? Heck, that must have been where he came from! Quite a swim, but possible even for a little guy if he's strong and used to the water. So I told him we'd go back to Darwin but headed off instead towards Mission Island.

Unfortunately, he wasn't one to be fooled- he learnt something somewhere about navigation- and he knew where we were going. This sent him into a fit of pleading which was heartbreaking to watch. I tried to calm him down by telling him that I would keep his return secret, if I could, but this did nothing to help the situation. Eventually- by which I mean in the last 30 seconds of the trip- he gave up, and sat at the bow, singing an eerie aborigine song. It was very sad; it felt lonely, and empty, like it should have been carried further, and to some other end…

Damn it, I'm like a poet.

When we reached the island he disembarked without a fuss. I watched him sneak back into one of the dorms, then cast off, and now here I am, entering into this journal.

Looking back, I feel quite sorry for him, and I can't help but wonder if I shouldn't have just taken him back here with me. He didn't look the type to get into trouble, and he seemed very earnest about the whole thing. Definitely that Mission Island was the _last_ place he wanted to be. Then again, what else could I have done but what I did? I'm sure he'll be fine.

P.S. I _knew_ there was no bloody point in all the evacuating. If the Japs attack here I'll eat my hat.

--


	8. Chapter 6

Apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I admit I got a little distracted, but I make no excuses.

By the way, if you're following, please review.

--

_Brother Frank's Journal, 15__th__ February_

I know now that I was mistaken that time, when I said that anger was the worst emotion for Nullah, for now I have seen him stony-faced, with no emotion, and just a sort of numb detachment showing in his eyes. I can barely imagine what he must be feeling at the moment, after what he was just put through...

Daku found him heading for the hilltop. I can imagine his face- see the scars of hatred. It's frightening. Daku is so _human_ in his evil that it seems to spill over and wrap itself to anyone nearby. There's threat in him all the time, and when he's angry- which is often- it is like looking into the heart of man.

Nullah started to walk faster; there was perhaps a touch of panic in the steps. Daku hurried after him and grabbed his arm, stopping him dead.

"Found you creamy. Now let's talk!"

Nullah kept walking, fighting the clutching hands of Daku and his accomplices. No chance.

"Filthy little creamy… I've been thinking about your bitch mother. Bet she told you you're a proper aborigine, right? A _real_ one, with _real_ ancestors, like _me_. But just 'cause your whore of a mother made a mistake with some white foreigner on a spree, doesn't mean she's made a real man. Nah, you're nothin' near us- not anywhere near. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch, how could you even suggest it?"

Nullah must have trembled all over when he heard this. He gave me the same expression when he told me as I imagine he did when it happened- he turns his face away, and his hair falls down to cover his face. Hiding.

Now Daku pushed him. Fiercely. Nullah fell flat- struggled up by slow degrees, against their shoves. Daku was spitting; he shook with rage.

Having seen Daku after his fights and his insults, I know what Nullah meant when he said that- "shaking…" It scares him, and it should. It is a threat of absolutes. Once you've seen Daku's fists shake, white knuckled- only then can you grasp the full extent of his anger. This isn't a game to him, this isn't a good piece of fun. He truly hates Nullah. Why? I can only guess. It seems to me that to love someone requires a great deal of effort, but to hate someone requires none at all.

By the time they reached the base of the hill Daku was saying anything and everything. No limits, no taboos.

"You really are a funny colour, creamy, you know that? You gone half black but given up… what a waste! You're disgusting, that's why. You can't hide it- can't hide who you are. It shows. You must've done something really wrong to be made into such a terrible person, into a creamy… don't you think? No ancestors for you, they _hate_ you. You're nobody, you don't have ancestors."

Daku pushed him again, and when Nullah failed to fall he swept his legs out. Nullah crashed down again and gashed his head on the rough stones.

Very slowly and tensely Daku picked up a stone, a sharp piece with a spiteful edge, and cast it guiltlessly from hand to hand. Nullah struggled onto his knees, watching it bounce back and forth. Daku spoke.

"This is it. We've come to a right proper end, 'cause you know what, we're in Hell now. You and me, creamy. Hell, just like 'em Christians say, full of blood, blood, blood. Blood, and screaming, and blood."

Orrin and Odern had left- it seemed Daku had overstepped even their tastes. But he didn't notice their absence. Taking the sharp end of the stone he slid it over his left forearm, so the blood pumped out. Taking it in his waiting hands he coated his wrists and fingers.

When he told me the story, Nullah gave little indication of his reactions during this ordeal. There is no way I can say what he felt as he watched the blood wrap up his nemesis like gloves. And I don't know whether he could have predicted its meaning at that time. So even I, a desperate romantic, won't try to capture the expression Nullah must have worn. I have seen him afraid, but I have never seen him faced by Demons or Devils. All I can give in terms of reaction is that he began to speak then, very weakly and helplessly. Just saying "stop," once or twice or three times. Stop, stop, stop.

Daku slicked a final smudge of sticky blood over his forehead then bent to Nullah's level, so that the blood dripped off him onto the ground, and pressed the bloodied shard of stone into Nullah's hands. "I don't want it," said Nullah quietly," and let it fall. In response Daku slapped him over the head three times, hard. Repeated the ritual. Again Nullah dropped the stone. Again the slaps. And again and again. And throughout Nullah just sat there, face veiled by his falling hair, trying to protect his head with his arms, and saying, "stop, stop, just stop…"

Now he stood back, that black and red devil, carrying a stone in each hand. Nullah didn't move. He sat there, struggling to breath with the shock and the domination, frozen into paralysis. But now Daku threw one of the stones hard, aiming to miss but fast enough to wound. It skittered by Nullah's left elbow and now he had no choice but to stand.

"Now gimme that stone back!" Daku screamed. He was shaking again. He looked so ready to kill, ready to slaughter, to maim, to control. "Throw your's back, creamy, I know you want to. Show me you can't help it."

Like a puppet Nullah raised the arm holding the wet red stone, but Daku shook his head fiercely. "Don't throw it… hit me with it! Come right up here and hit me over the head, hard as you can. And I'll stop you, or maybe not, and then like I said- one of us comes out of Hell."

Now Nullah hesitated. To kill must have seemed such a conclusive option compared to weeks, months, years of torment and aggression. But in the end the choice was already made, for his indecision was enough to see Daku hurl the second stone: it caught Nullah on the chest above the heart, hard enough to leave a bruise inches wide and make him scream. A solitary tear spilled onto his right cheek and slid down, leaving a tract I could still make out when we spoke.

Daku thought he would attack him then, but he didn't. Nullah cried out again, less out of pain than out of a climax of torment. "Daku, no. No, no. No! I don't wanna… don't wanna fight. Look, I do anythin'. I go on my knees." And he got down on his knees in the dust. "But we don't have to go fight. We shouldn'."

"Shouldn't?" Daku's face twisted with such rage that he became unrecognisable. He seized a stone. "Shouldn't? You telling me what's what, you stupid creamy? Why couldn't you fight back? Why you go crying and kneeling like you can stop this? Oh you bastard little creamy, trying to get out by any other way. But this is a fight… So fight!" And he made as if to swing and hit Nullah over the temple where he knelt, and it was in his eyes that he would do it without a thought.

So what could Nullah do? He had to stand up and swing. And Daku just stood, the barest grin touching the sides of his fierce face- the grin of a trickster God, of a young devil. Because at that very moment, with clockwork precision, brother John appeared in sight and bore down upon them.

Nullah says that he "no seeing at first look who that Brother John was." How angry he must have been to become unrecognisable. His eyes stole over the two boys, beaten and bleeding, and settled on Nullah. Like a __ Daku faded into the background, and he saw only Nullah, and all his ceaseless upheavals.

Something in him snapped. By fast degrees his breathing quickened and his lips curled, showing rows of old teeth. He muttered inaudibly, and his eyes never left Nullah, who was frozen still.

It is at this point that I finally arrived, attracted, as Brother John had been, by the noise. Late as ever, and I say that with not a hint of humour. So I was there to witness what happened next.

Daku had been standing until then just behind Brother John, and all the time wearing that unbearable quiet grin- just the barest twitch of the lip- of triumph, undetectable to anyone not looking. Now he suddenly broke down; tears spilled down his cheeks, and all at once he was sobbing loudly. "Oh, Father John. Father John, it was terrible, terrible, terrible!" he cried. "Did you see? D'you see him go all mad on me and make to kill me like. I couldn' believe it sir," He staggered from side to side in a kind of fit of innocent disbelief.

"He woulda killed me, good sir, good kind Father," he said, "Thank God you came, thank the Good Lord you was here for me!"

"This is monstrous," I whispered.

"No…" That was Nullah, shocked into silence, staring at Brother John and knowing whom he believed.

"You don't believe him… surely you don't believe him." I turned to Brother John with every nerve tingling. He stared back stubbornly.

Hearing this, Daku wailed and threw himself at John's knees, clutching them tightly. "Oh Father John, it is God's truth! I swear it is sir; I done many a bad thing but this was it, this was me sayin' enough's enough."

"You told me that last time," said John, unwillingly. But I saw no indecision in his pose.

"I swear, I swear, sir, it's all true. Nullah was attacking me, like he always does, always trying to ruin things for me. And for you. He hates you, Father John. I swear all this on the Good Book… 'tis God's truth, honestly, honestly."

I was more furious than I had been since before I can remember. I said:

"Damn you, even the Devil can cite the Scriptures, if it benefits him… you filthy liar."

When I said that it triggered something in Nullah, and I glimpsed him start forward.

"Filthy liar," he repeated. He told me later he had used that expression before. He had seen liars before.

Yet it was such a mistake.

Brother John may have misinterpreted Nullah's fierce step forwards as an act of aggression- he still had the bloodied stone in one hand, forgotten. I don't know whether that is the truth, or whether he was simply too deep in anger to care, but at that moment Brother John flew at him with the strength of frenzy, seizing him by the throat.

Nullah couldn't even scream. On instinct I leapt in as well and seized John by one arm. I am much younger than him, but at that moment he threw me off as though I were one of the children. I saw Nullah choking and flailing, and Daku grinning, and panic gave me some strength- I jumped in again and wrestled him back with colossal effort. Nullah collapsed gasping. John spun- as though to hit _me, _and I truly thought he would.

"Listen to me," I was saying, "just listen to me, just listen. Listen to me,"

Listen, listen, listen, that was what I kept repeating, but Brother John was not listening.

I released him and he pushed himself off of me. John was like a beast considering combat. His eyes went over each of us in turn, and when they settled on Nullah, shaking and with the beginnings of a pendant of bruises showing around his neck above his collar, I thought he would try it all again.

I took a cautionary step towards Nullah, putting me in a position to intercept John if he moved; but John saw the action and, once again, misinterpreted. To his world-wearied, suspicious eyes it seemed I had abandoned him, an old and cherished friend, in favour of a little halfblood I barely knew.

He walked away. After a few minutes Daku stirred (I had almost forgotten his presence), then followed, like a veritable imp at his master's heel _(The preceding line has been fiercely scribbled out and replaced with simply 'followed'). _

When I looked back Nullah was on his feet. For a second we made eye contact and he swallowed painfully. I understood the message, and I didn't follow as he walked in the opposite direction to John and Daku, up the hillside.

I was left standing between them- a speck of dust in an infinite and inseparable divide.

…I have resolved to go and speak to him right away, as none of God's creatures should have to suffer as much as he must be suffering. Then I shall have a long talk with Brother John. I cannot imagine what difference I could make, but I must try something.

--

…_Later. _I found Nullah up the hill in the alcove. His head was buried in his elbows; in the semi-dawn the tree's long shadow seemed to leer over him.

I was disheartened in that moment, for I thought that all the work I had done to get close to him had been undone by Brother John's rash actions. I felt a sting of terrible resentment towards my old friend.

And now I must beg forgiveness, Lord, for if You had not in that moment filled me with _Your_ sympathy, and _Your_ compassion, my own would not have been enough to keep me from turning away and leaving him, truly alone. Fortunately, however, You were with me, and I had the resolve to go and sit by him and ask if he would like to hear a story. He didn't reply but I saw the lines of his face soften, so I decided to take a chance. A chance which, in hindsight, was ludicrously dangerous, which could have split us apart forever. But at the time I was in the height of emotion, and it was this which occurred to me, and kept insisting: so opened my bible (which I always carry), and turned to the Sermon on the Mount:

"Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a hillside and sat down. His disciples came to him and he began to teach them, saying:

_Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven._

_Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. _

_Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth._

_Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satiated._

_Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. _

_Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. _

_Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. _

_Blessed are those who are persecuted because of their righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."_

Here I went to verse 43:

_You have heard that it was said: "love your neighbour and hate your enemy." But I tell you: Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love only those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even the pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect._

And, Lord Almighty, I think it got through to him then! Once I finished he looked at me sort of searchingly, and there was that quiet spark of acceptance in his eyes that always heralds submission to You, and a kind of comforted warmth that only comes from knowing You.

I spent some time with him after, talking mostly, but finding my words immaterial. It was, I feel, merely my presence that sustained Nullah in what must otherwise have been horrifying hours- merely the understanding on his part that his isolation was not complete. I felt something of the same feeling. During this time he recounted to me the encounter with Daku that I have just transcribed. Curious that I should want to write down these terrible events, but I am urged to do so by a secret part of me that disobeys simple thought. Something inside me (or so it seems) feels that this is a story that cannot go untold, that there should be audience and witness to this conflict, and so it struggles to tell it, even if only to blank pages.

And one day, though he makes me bitter to imagine, he can forgive Daku, and love him as a neighbour, just as Jesus says in Verse 43.

And now I shall go and see Brother John. I have some time before the night time prayers, and there are words between us that as friends should not go unsaid.

--

**End of Chapter 6**


	9. Chapter 7

Must apologise for another long wait, but have been on holiday without internet access for 1 week so I have some sort of excuse. If you still happen to be interested, please remember to review at the end, even if it's just one or two words. It's only 30 seconds of your life, and it'll make me happy.

**--**

_Brother Frank's Diary, 15__th__ February (cont.)_

_(11pm)…_ Another story to write today. I am sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of having to write down new stories every night. How I long for the old times again- that is, the uninteresting ones. It seems you don't realise your fortune, to live in easy circumstances, until you've lost them. No, better that the great and the terrible things happen to other people, like they do in books. Yet here I am, writing one. Just as trapped, and just as unknowing of the outcome.

I spoke with Brother John, and the whole occasion was steeped in insincerity. We sat together, very sombre at first, then agitated and filled with nervous decision; but faced with the events preceding it, how could it be anything but a sham? I must point out that I recognise this only in hindsight, for whilst I won't bother to transcribe all of our long and ridiculous conversations, at the end we reached a fine agreement. It took some doing, but Brother John agreed to let me try first to help Nullah and resolve this issue- until further notice I was to have final word of authority on the island.

Well, that is how it was said, and at the time I had no reason to doubt him. Perhaps it's because I'm a romantic, and (I confess) naïve, that I didn't see the subtle change in Brother John. The twitches in the eyebrows, the nervous way he kept rubbing his mouth and eyes; the subtly bared teeth. Something in him has snapped, and perhaps it was this that drove him to do what he did, this very night, right before my eyes.

It was nighttime prayer. A routine occasion, but the first time I was to host it. Previously the job had always fallen to Brother John. Now it was I who was to read out the Lord's Prayer, the boys sitting around my feet. I was eager to finish, and hurrying:

_Our father, _

_Who art in Heaven, _

_Hallowed be thy name. _

_Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, _

On Earth, as it is in Heaven…

Restlessness. I glanced at Daku momentarily, and from immediately I suspected. My gaze moved to Brother John, who stared unsmilingly back, as though asking 'do you dare challenge my honesty?'

I continued.

_Give us this day our daily bread; _

_Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. _

_Lead us not into temptation, _

_But deliver us from evil. _

_For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, _

_For Ever and Ever, _

_Amen._

The end had never seemed so long in coming. I intended to finish immediately. Tomorrow would be the start of change, of a slow healing. But first, Brother John had another idea, for just as I was closing my bible, he stood up to talk to the boys with an air of quiet knowing authority, and announced:

"As the prayer laid down by Jesus Christ Himself, spoken even by Him, I humbly believe the Lord's Prayer to be the very description of Christianity; the cornerstone of its beliefs. It is important to bear in mind at all times that this prayer, these simple lines, were good enough even for the Holy Son himself. So are they good enough for us? Most certainly! And even if some of you do not- yet- accept every facet of their meaning, I think it is only right that we acknowledge their power. Some of you have not read it yet. I think now is as good a time as any. After all…" and he threw out a glare, carefully disguised so that only the shrewdest boys would see it- "after all, none of us should be so proud as to consider ourselves above Jesus Christ, Saviour of Mankind, by refusing to read His prayer."

His finger came up, and I knew without following it to whom it pointed.

"Nullah! You have not read yet!"

"Brother John…" My voice was drowned out in his uncompromising authority. Nullah looked to me but found no solace; I was helpless.

Slowly he stood up.

"Excellent, now come on up boy, that's good…" There was nothing but demand in his voice. Nullah came up and stood beside me- I touched his arm briefly. Brother John saw the move and shook with anger. "Now…" he passed Nullah a bible, turned to Matthew 6:9, and stood over him, quietly merciless.

I was close enough to Nullah to hear his breathing. He dropped his face for a moment, staring at that small thing in his hands; his hair fell over his face. Suddenly it seemed to dawn on him that he really did have no choice but to break an unspoken oath, and engage in a taboo that was no less than a betrayal of all his ancestors.

He started to read slowly. As I listened to the words a sickening feeling swept through me- I looked at John and didn't recognise him.

_Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. _

_Lead us not into temptation, _

_But deliver us from evil… _

John was hands were restless, his lips taut. I continued to watch him as the familiar words rolled by, feeling the build up of some dreadful climax in the air.

_For thine is the kingdom, the Power and the Glory, _

_For Ever and Ever, _

_Amen…_

Silence. Nullah passed me the bible and I felt his hand tremble. He went to move but John was faster. Like a trap those tight lips sprang open as he said, "wait! Hold on one second…"

Nullah froze with his back turned. John waited for him to turn around, then continued.

"As I have said, this one short prayer is, I believe, the cornerstone of what we believe. And a great part of this- no, the _greatest_ part of this- is the forgiveness of sin." He put one finger and one eyebrow up, in a move that was part wisdom, part menace, "because you see children, _no-one_ is above forgiveness. No, not even the Japanese, who do such awful things. And believe me if you didn't witness them yourself; on this very island we have seen some awful things. Some wicked crimes have been committed; but Brother Frank and I both agree-" I was somehow included in this plan- "that tonight should be a night to forget. So I think it is only fair that the two offending parties apologise to one another, and forgive each-other their sins."

"Disgusting." I was shocked out of speech. I knew where this would go. John ignored me. At that moment I realised I was no longer a part of the running of _his_ island, _his_ mission. I felt irrevocably cheated, more for Nullah's part than for mine. I glanced at the boy- John had said his name, loudly. He stood with his eyes down and his arms hugging his elbows. He knew where this would go as well.

"Nullah… and Daku." The name sounded out like a needle. "I think you should both apologise now; and then forgive one another. Understood?"

I stood up. I was so outraged that for several seconds words escaped me; I stared dumbly at my former tutor with inexpressible anger. "This is ludicrous," I breathed, "Absolute sacrilege."

I was standing to my full height now- my priest's clothes seemed suddenly restrictive, and I felt very young and very strong, brimming with action. I advanced- I could have imagined John was a little afraid, but I barely noticed. I moved right up to him; he went to put distance between us but I put a hand on his shoulder and my head very close. "Brother John, what in God's name are you doing? Are you completely insane?"

The tight-lipped reply as he held his ground: "I am doing what Jesus would have done."

"How do you dare say that? This is sickening," We were whispering close in each other's ears; the other boys may or may not have heard, but I didn't care. We were encased in our own private conflict.

"Don't tell me what is and what isn't…" John always had that tight-lipped sort of reply.

"You put me in charge,"

"I told you that you were in charge,"

"So you lied…" my hand tightened on him, "You must have been planning this since the moment you walked away on the beach…"

"It is the right thing to do…" Such stubbornness. I can't write for the thought of this conversation.

"It's a psychological weapon!" and I leaned in very close indeed, "and if truth be told, I could never understand why you hate Nullah so much, because he has done nothing to you…"

Now John looked into my eyes for the first time, with no sign of intimidation. "That half-caste," he told me, very slowly and methodically, "has undone thirty, forty, fifty years of my work in the Church. His actions defy all reason, and only he could ever cause so much disorder. Daku? Daku is a bully. What's Nullah?"

"Nullah is a victim and a survivor! Stop this _right now_…"

"I won't stop," he breathed, "and if you do anything to disrupt it, I will send you back to Darwin. I don't care if there's a war in the pacific, or in the whole world- I'll make sure you are gone."

I wondered if he could. Whatever authority I had had at the start seemed to have ebbed away as I remembered who I was: the follower, the subordinate. Suddenly my whole effort seemed colossally stupid- how could _I_ be so bold?

"What about Nullah?"

"You would probably never see him again."

I broke, as always. I knew I didn't have the strength to go any further than I had. Funny things started to occur to me as I staggered back to my seat, dazed. It occurred to me that, if my logic served me rightly, this was not the first time Nullah had been used as a threat.

Throughout this I had noticed Daku's restless shuffling from the corner of my eye. Now his face wore that quiet subtle grin of utter triumph, unnoticeable to anyone but those whom he intended. I watched, seething and helpless, as he stood up, very solemn-faced to any average person, but taunting Nullah and I with that terrible quiet grin. "Well, I am ready to be giving up all them mistakes I made," he said, very loudly and clearly- like a practiced speaker. "I know sometimes I been on the wrong end of things, and maybe I've been angry before too and maybe gone ahead without thinking. But I hope everyone here will, maybe, agree, or testify, or something to that respect, that I never truly meant some of the cruel things I did. If you think we could perhaps start afresh, Nullah, would you forgive me?"

Nullah wasn't showing his face; there was nothing defiant in his sagging and wilted stance. He looked away, head down. Daku tried to meet his gaze but Nullah averted in his gaze and I saw the briefest flicker of hatred in Daku's eyes. "Well, it's your choice, it's your choice…" and sat down.

John was furious. "Well," he blustered, "I suppose it should be no surprise to me that you refuse to offer forgiveness. Perhaps I should have expected no less from one of your character… and colour. Truly you are a disgrace. If you consider yourself above giving forgiveness, maybe it is best you still ask for it. Apologise to Daku! Ask for forgiveness!"

Nullah looked into Daku's quiet unnoticed grin and dropped his gaze almost instantly. He was deadly still, but his hands shook. He said nothing.

"You disgrace! Apologise!" John cuffed him hard across the head. Still no apology, so John hit him again, this time with his fist closed. Nullah fell.

Having seen this, any hesitation I still had left me instantly. Suddenly it was like a fight situation- no rules, no consequences. I leapt up, meaning purposefully and for the first time in my life to beat another human being into submission; it was a wild feeling.

But Nullah stopped me, with a raised hand. His voice was so unexpected that each of us froze in our tracks. I turned my eyes on him. He looked very small and helpless- though nothing obvious in his appearance was changed, I wondered that this could ever be the same boy I had spoken to on the ship, both of us so silently hopeful.

"No," he said very weakly, "No, Father Frank."

He had never addressed me as such. With a sigh of something like exertion he staggered up and looked at each of us in turn.

"I apologise now. No more fighting, okay?"

I was utterly still- I wanted to cry. "Okay."

Nullah turned to Daku, showing for a moment a trace of an old fearlessness, like the final meeting of two friends. "Sorry for everything, Daku."

That grin. Victory… "I forgive you, Nullah. And it's a new day tomorrow."

"I think that'll be enough," said John, quietly smouldering. "Everyone to bed."

The boys dispersed, some to their beds and some to the second dorm, leaving us two bitter and affected. It occurred to me that Nullah had perhaps saved me from a prison sentence, because at the moment of readiness no course of action would have been too much for me. But he had not saved me from what he must have feared. For as soon as we were out the dorm, John turned to me without a trace of friendliness, and whispered:

"I have seen too much, Frank. It seems I was wrong about you. As soon as I am able, there will be another brother over here. And you will be thankfully, and completely, gone."

_Brother Frank's Diary, Feb 16__th_

Times are desperate. Nullah has not eaten all day, and last night it is evident he didn't sleep at all either. He barely moves, in fact- it is as though he were fading away. I worry seriously for his life, as I cannot imagine him just suddenly abandoning this slow suicide.

Meanwhile Daku and his friends continue to torment him from a safe distance whenever they can get in the dorm. He ignores them even if they are physical. I have forbade them from entering the dorm but that- and anything else- is hardly likely to stop them now they are so determined. John I have talked to- there is nothing conceivably worse he could threaten me with- again and again, but he is utterly resistant even to the thought of action. It seems that now the evil is done he denies any part in it.

Meanwhile I have been given no news on my imminent deportation. In all honesty I give it little thought, considering that, at this very moment, Nullah is slowly dying before our very eyes.

_Brother Frank's Diary, 17__th__ February _

Nothing has changed. Nullah sits as those he had never moved. It is clear he didn't sleep last night. What can I do now? Force-feed him? What would be the point? He has surrendered; there is nothing left in him to fight back. When a person gets like that, what can you do? It seems I am to become, on my first mission, witness to a suicide, or, more accurately, a murder.

Brother John and I have not spoken- at least, not as friends- since the 15th. He has surrounded himself with walls and moats, and to be grimly honest I have no interest in reaching him. The only one who talks, it seems, is Daku. Us three sit in our self-created cages whilst Daku smiles at his own success. Where did we go wrong?

_Brother Frank's Diary, 18__th__ February (entered at 1am)_

Nullah is gone! I have only seconds to write while John prepares the boat. I pray more feverishly now than in my entire life. God help us carry him home... I say home…

--

End of Chapter 7 


	10. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

--

_Journal of Brother John, February 18__th__ 1942_

I am not a skilful writer, which is why I usually fill this diary in using shorthand, where simple ideas are easily expressed and complex ones rarely arise. However, the events of tonight are unique, and deserving of a longhand account. That way I may never, even in senility, forget the smallest detail of the events of tonight.

When we realised Nullah was missing everything turned into a sort of hushed frenzy of movement. Brother Frank changed into some old clothes, and I hurried to prepare the boat. We were both caught up in haste- we knew well the conditions that faced us. The weather was poor, and getting worse, promising a storm; and we both knew Nullah, who had now been without food or sleep for over twenty-four hours, was in no condition to swim anywhere, let alone to try and reach that distant steamer that had appeared on the horizon only hours ago. Our only ray of hope was that the ship was still within sight on the horizon, glinting feebly in our lights against a menacing backdrop of cloud; by this we could steer our course, and hope to spot Nullah _en route_ to the vessel.

It was a short trip, but filled with anxiety. The slightest movement set our nerves tingling. In the grim darkness that was looming over us with the clouds, every dark shape in the water looked human, every flash of brown in the waves like the boy's dark skin. We were at once terrified of not reaching him quickly enough, and coming upon him dead and drowned, or of passing him altogether in the rocking dark. Afraid to go on, afraid to go back, we jolted forwards through the choppy waters, trying in desperation to cover every patch of sea, every wave, with only our two pairs of eyes.

We had been going for some unimaginable time when a sudden call echoed through the wind. Awakened from our stupor of alertness, we started up, searching the waves wildly; but it was from the ship that the voice had come. We were quite close now, and its ghostly silhouette loomed over us. It was not moving; rom somewhere on the foredeck a light was being waved at us, and another call echoed through the wind and off the rollicking water. Brother Frank grabbed the lamp and waved it in acknowledgement, and tried to call back; but by now a gale was blowing, and the motion of the waves, with their rise and collapse, was so loud that words were impossible to make out.

Whilst this was happening I had, on a gut intuition, seized the motor control; it had occurred to me that if we had not passed Nullah, he would be around us now, for there was no chance he would have made it onto the ship- it was too high, and he couldn't have got close enough while it moved. With this in mind I pulled our little boat to a near-standstill, drifting only with the waves.

If I hadn't, it is very probable we would have sailed right over him and crushed him, for at that moment Brother Frank cried out to me, and rushed up beside me, pointing. In the gloom I saw that flash of resolve in his eyes, and all my anxiety left me. From then on we worked very much on raw instinct, and emotion had no place in our lives at all: we struggled as machines, tirelessly, with one goal obsessing our minds.

The waves were high enough now to spill onto the deck; everything was wet to the point of saturation, and a tremendous screaming gale, heavy with damp, forced us to shout to each other even at only a few feet. Nullah was around fifty feet away; only his head and shoulders were in sight, and these vanished frequently behind- or beneath- the waves. I thought it a miracle he was managing to stay afloat. He looked so small in that massive ocean that it seemed as though he would suddenly be swallowed up by its weight and power, which was visibly tipping our small boat all over the place. We struggled to within fifteen feet of him, but I was loath to go closer. If we did, a freak wave, or a surge of any sort, would throw the side of our boat clean against him, crushing his ribcage, or at very least forcing him underwater. And Frank knew as well as I that if he was ducked now he wouldn't have the strength to come back up.

Frank ripped his shirt off. "I am going in for him!"

"Are you insane!" I cried; but he seemed barely to notice me as he rushed to the side. The waves whipped onto his feet. I cried out again and grasped his arm before he could dive- the boat pitched with the sudden movement, almost tipping us overboard. "Look out there!" I shouted, imploring him, "look at the sea! If you jump overboard you will be swept away and killed!"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Doesn't matter? Good God, Frank, please-just listen to reason-"

I realise only now how very strange it must have seemed to him to hear that coming from me. In desperation Frank spun round, his blazing eyes catching mine and holding to them. Then, even as we rocked and swayed with the violent ocean, he grabbed my free hand with his and squeezed it tightly, and embraced me, saying passionately:

"You say Good God, John; but listen to me now, I beg you. Isn't it what God wants? Think of Jesus Christ, brother. Would he abandon any boy, coloured or not, educated or not, evil or good, to merciless fate? He who saves all of us unworthy souls! by the chance of success? Is His grace just a matter of probabilities? No, he went out to save us _knowing_, knowing without doubt that he would die- die humiliated, like a criminal! I can't be afraid now, by this, which is so small by comparison!"

"There are so many evil men in the world as it is; men who live their lives for themselves rather than someone else," his voice cracked. "And I always wanted to be a hero, but really I was one of them. I never had the courage to give my life for anyone else, it was too meaningless. But now I have found Jesus- and I would give it for him! If I die it will be God's decision; but how could I sing hymns, and be a priest, and pray- talk to the Lord Jesus like a friend!- if I just watched this little boy drown?"

As I looked into his face I witnessed a selfless resolve the likes of which I had never seen before. I felt my resistance burn away, into ashes. Finally I submitted. "But put you're shirt back on," I said, "because I'm not letting you put your life into God's hands without all the help we can give you here on Earth! Here, tie the rope around you, under your arms, and I will hold onto you so you can't be swept away."

He agreed, and together we moved with unified efficiency. Time swept by as we moved, denying my desire to hold on to the moment; and I could barely comprehend it when, abruptly, my old friend was diving into the water, to the rescue of one small half-caste child.

I remember those moments as a whirlwind of motion. Everything was moving: the sea, the boat, Nullah, Brother Frank; everything rocked back and forth with the waves, and this would prove our greatest enemy. As I watched, panting and heaving with the rope, as Frank battled his way forwards, it occurred to me how strong a swimmer Nullah must be to have stayed afloat at all. He had seen us, and I assume he knew what we were trying to do, and was fighting to stay still in the water, and aid our cause; but he must have been passing in and out of consciousness, because at times it was all he could do to keep his head above the water. As for Brother Frank, I can only imagine what tortures he must have gone through, as every now and then the rope would snap taut, shredding the muscles on my arms. What's more, the violence of the storm had soaked everything to an extreme. Everything was slippery and volatile-f Australian waters weren't fairly warm we would doubtlessly have died by hypothermia. Occasionally Brother Frank would dive, giving him a few seconds of relative calm to swim through. In this way he gradually gained ground on the boy. Still, it seemed that every foot cost him a mountain of effort, and a well of faith deeper perhaps than I have ever had until today.

And then Frank was right beside him. It was so sudden, but in that instant we were in no position to look on to the next. There was so much volatility and motion that I didn't dare try to guess the next event. As it happened, God- or luck, or something- was with us, and a sudden surge carried Nullah right into Brother Frank's arms; the sea making up in a second more ground than all of Frank's efforts put together. As this happened I was tying the rope to the mast, as a safety net in case my strength failed me. I looked up in time to glimpse Nullah's small form collide side-on with Frank's open arms, and slip right out of them. They cried out in frustration and exhaustion, but I could only watch helplessly. Frank threw himself at Nullah with a groan of effort that even I on the boat could hear, but again Nullah's bare wet skin slipped from his grip. Again he was dragged away. Time after time Frank went to grab him, and every time Nullah, despite his best efforts, slipped right out from his fingers; and I could only watch and pray as they became more and more exhausted, their movements becoming slow and sporadic.

When Frank finally caught Nullah in the swell, and clung to him without slipping away, I barely registered. For a few moments I had resigned myself. I thought without doubt that before my eyes two deaths were about to occur. I was picturing the horrors of drowning. And in the next moment I was dragging away at the rope, watching the frail figures draw closer and closer. Above us, little weak lights appeared on the deck of the ship, like watching angels. And then I was reaching for them, with white-cold fingers, shocked that they should be close enough to touch. Somehow it had worked, and we were alive. I worked in a daze.

I looked into their grey, smiling faces as I pulled Nullah up by his armpits. He sagged against me- a dead weight- and I put him down on deck, where he lay, motionless but awake, then reached back for Brother Frank.

And the boat moved. Just barely did I grab his wrist, holding more or less by the cuff of his sleeve, and with a savage effort dragged him halfway out of the water before the motion of the waves could carry him away.

The cuff ripped. Suddenly he was back in the water, and I almost in with him. There was a terrific whiplash sound, like a bolt of lightning right across our arms, and then I saw. The rope, which evidently had been rubbing on the rail of the boat since I tied it up, had not withstood the sudden strain of Brother Frank's fall, and had snapped. I watched, as helplessly as ever, as my old friend began to be carried further and further away from us. And now he, like Nullah, barely stayed afloat. Barely swam at all.

Silence.

I could have sworn there was silence, sworn to God, though evidently there wasn't. But as I stood there, shivering in soaking clothes, little beads of water dripping into my eyes, I felt like everything stopped. In that moment I took everything in, and it was a little like what Hell must be- there was endless chaos, as far as the eye could see. Wave crashing upon wave, with no peace anywhere. And our little boat, carrying what seemed then to have been a lone survivor amongst an eon of humanity's dead. And brother Frank, slowly vanishing away, beneath a long dark silhouette topped with helpless twinkling, helpless lights.

But as it happened I wasn't alone. I was snapped from my trance of surrender by the whirr of an engine not ours. Out of the storm another boat appeared- a tiny thing, even more helpless than our own, and manned by two or three suicidal men from the ship. I wondered vaguely how they could be so mad, but I was so happy for them.

A crisp, inaudible shout reached the boat. I glanced left; Nullah was at my elbow, panting and shaking but somehow focused. He looked back at me and our eyes met briefly. The shout reached us again.

"Catch the Rope, catch the rope!"

The boat had pulled up close to us- its size gave it advantage of manoeuvrability. A rope came lashing out of the storm onto the deck- a drenched thing, it hardly looked worthy of such a rescue. Nullah leapt on it even faster than me, but his hands were so numb he couldn't tie it, so I seized it and attached it to the mast. I felt it snap taught- through the torrent I could make out the tiny boat-silhouette, almost hovering on the waves as it bobbed about. The rope crept out to it and was held firm. Where it hung, a foot or so above the water, Brother Frank had somehow grabbed hold.

All I remember from the next minute was shouting, and frenzied joy. In truth, my own shouting was all I could hear. Likelihood is that Nullah was shouting too, though he couldn't even stand; and also the men on that tiny boat, our saviour from the ship, and all the man with the lights on the deck high above us, all in chorus. But I didn't hear any of it.

Then he was within reach again! It was strange, that's the only description; utterly strange to see. I wondered with delight how silly we all must have looked, to any passing sea creature, or the ocean if it had consciousness, or God himself maybe: us three tiny humans, frolicking about in this vast ocean sea, next to which we were as insignificant as three grains of sand from a beach. But I was so delighted. Pulling Brother Frank, once a friend, once a rival, back onto that deck was the greatest achievement of my life.

As soon as he was on board, lying there, prostate on the deck, Nullah appeared at his side with a small knife, which he used to hack away the shred of rope still tied around Brother Frank's chest. As soon as it was released Brother Frank gasped, and coughed up water. Evidently the rope had tightened in the water and began to throttle him. But I didn't care. I knew we had succeeded. Nullah collapsed; I carried him over to the side, where the recess of the ship would shield him from the weather- he was immediately and violently sick overboard. The move seemed to empty him of the ordeal, and he was shaking less as he lay down. I glimpsed the tiny little boat disappearing unsteadily back to its mother ship. As if to say, "all in a day's work…" I suppose I never will see it again. Then I went and helped up Brother Frank, who sat against the mast gasping and sodden, his blasting by the elements clearly visible in his shaking body. But he was almost smiling.

"Frank," said Nullah suddenly. The wind was quite quiet. "Frank… Sorry I made you jump. Made you swim... made you come get me. Sorry I hurt you now…"

He turned his face to _me_ now. I was stunned. "Father John…" He stuttered. He really shouldn't have been talking; he was exhausted. "Father John… sorry I ruin things for you… sorry I ruin 'em big plans."

He watched me earnestly for my response, and for the first time I saw that mysterious power in the depth of his eyes that Frank had so often described. I couldn't say anything. I was un-built. I could have cried. I think I did cry, but at the time I didn't notice- in the storm one's emotions all seem to weld together. I couldn't say anything. But Frank did.

He looked across me with a faint smile. It was as though all the past two months had never happened. "It's okay, Nullah." He said. "We forgive you."

…On the return journey no one said a thing- there was not a word in need of saying. Almost immediately Nullah fell asleep, which was best. He looked the happiest and most serene I had ever seen him. Brother Frank followed shortly after.

When we had docked and disembarked I carried Nullah into his dormitory. He was mostly dry, so I put him straight into bed without waking him. Not a soul stirred; not one of them will ever know anything at all of our adventure of tonight. It was as though it had never happened. In that moment I realised that even a revelation that goes totally unnoticed can be the biggest thing in the entire world, even counting all its tragedies.

…I then returned to Brother Frank. He is faring well, but is still weak. I wonder if the rope around his chest may have done some damage to organs or ribs. I must bear in mind that in similar situations in the future I must remember to attach the rope around the waist.

Once I have completed this entry I will take him to the hospital in Darwin. I know he doesn't want to, but I will insist.

…After all this, there is one thing on my mind that I suppose could be said to trouble me. And that is, after all that, I wonder, could I have done the same? I don't know. Would I have ever even dared? Don't know. But I do know that the strength I found tonight will never leave me.

Lord Jesus Christ, you are the light of the world. In forgiving us, you have done the most magnificent deed of all. If we could only emulate that deed. In your name,

Amen.

--

End of Chapter 8

**And now, it seems, we are approaching the end of this story. How sad it is! Hope everyone enjoyed it. One more chapter to go. Up probably next week. **


	11. Chapter 9

**The events of this chapter are based as closely as possible on the actual chronology of the Darwin bombings. As in real life, John Mcgrath's estimate is way off reality and all hope of preparation is lost. 200 Japanese planes hit Darwin completely by surprise, sinking over 30 ships and killing 200 people. They lost only four planes.**

**Final chapter. It's been fun, especially considering my target word count for this story was 8,000 words. That worked out…**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own**_** Australia.**_

_--_

_Journal of Brother John, Feb 19__th__ (in longhand)_

_Morning… _I had half-expected my reaction to these events to have dulled with sleep, but instead they are even more powerful this morning. I feel alive in a way I haven't done since I was very young; which I have maybe never felt in my whole life. I am filled with passion, and through this I suddenly find I understand God, understand his nature- and I understand people, and their nature.

I have resolved to apologise to Nullah for all the injustices I have dealt him, as I see now the errors in my thinking. How in God's name, I ask myself, could cold logic have been so deceiving? It is true that faith is far more powerful than reason. Reason is a corruptor, diluting in its myriad arguments, and pathways, and lines of thought. It is programmed to guide us to our preferred outcomes. Faith is the ultimate contrast: it is pure and uncompromising, and thus it cannot deceive you.

Anyway, enough with my philosophical meanderings. I shall find Nullah after lunch, probably, and see if he will talk to me.

Then I shall see Brother Frank also, in Darwin, to ensure he is recovering, and to apologise in the same way. I want it known that I reject my old self, that I have been born again. I see him in the evening. I have no fear of making these apologies now. I have no pride anymore, and what a wonderful feeling that is!

And tomorrow, life for Daku and his gang, and their bullying, will become much more difficult.

_(This is the final entry. One word, Later… is inscribed under the previous, clearly marking an intention to continue in the same day.)_

--

_Radio conversation between Mission Island Radio Station and Area Combined Headquarters, Darwin, 19__th __February 1942, approx 9:30am. _

M.I: This is Mission Island to Darwin… You hear me? Yes? I have sighted an unusually large air formation bearing down on us from the northwest; do you recognise it?

ACH: Can you estimate the number of planes?

M.I: Twenty or thirty at least.

ACH: I will check with a man in authority. Please hold this frequency.

(Pause of 4min 19secs)

ACH: There is no cause for alarm. Authorities report that 11 United States P-40E Kittyhawk fighters are running drills in that area.

M.I: I believe there were more planes than that… are you certain?

ACH: Quite certain. There are no other large formations in this area.

M.I: Even so... I would be very grateful if you could pass this message on to the appropriate commanding officer.

ACH: Of course.

M.I: Thank-you very much.

_(Frequency is switched off. At approximately 10:30am a brief, inaudible transmission is picked up from Mission Island. Contact is then abruptly lost. Minutes later, all transmissions from both Darwin and Mission Island radio stations are lost.)_

--

_Brother Frank's Diary, 19__th__ February _

I write this as I ride along on the back of an army truck, surrounded by the same children I have worked with for two months. I know I could never give anything like a full account of today from the back of this truck, so I won't attempt it. Suffice to say that right now I should be sad, surrounded as we are by the smoking remains of Darwin, the story of a tragedy that makes all of our problems on Mission Island look so small; I _should_ be sad, but instead this is one of the happiest days of my life.

My only hope is that one day I will have the opportunity to see Nullah again, happy, with his family. Like I said two months ago, it didn't suit him to be so sad. Now he can be contented again.

Here my short diary ends. It is, after all, really Nullah's story rather than mine, and since the chief character is absent there is no longer any need to continue it. So I say, with an air of Victorian romance (which is how I like it), the final concluding word:

FINIS.

_Letter addressed to Nullah at Faraway Downs, received 6__th__ May 1942 (unread by him until August). _

As an aborigine I know a lot about stories. I'd like to tell you one that means something to me.

I'm no good at writing really, especially in English- never was, but my mama helped me a lot, and so did a priest who visited (my papa wouldn't like me sending a letter like this to a half-caste, so I didn't tell him about it). If you're reading this, Nullah, I hope you show your mama and papa, because I bet you never told them, and they ought to know. Because you never really had to hide all of us, especially with all the bombs dropping. You could have just hid yourself, like so many of us were trying to do. I don't know if you'd forgiven me, but at least you'd forgotten, and that was more than I'd ever done.

I been reading the bible a lot now- crazy, huh? Father John always said he got at least one convert every two months, and I was happy to go along to get in his good books. But now I found this passage I really like- it's called the Sermon on the Mount. I think you should read it sometime.

Anyway, I don't want you to reply to this letter, because that would be forgiveness, and you don't really have to give me that. Not the aborigine way. But at least you can start to forget. I hope you're happy again- you always did look like you had something to go back to, and really that annoyed me more than anything.

In case you're wondering, I don't know what happened to Orrin and Odern- I guess they're still in the mission, and they've just been moved. If I see them again I'll tell them to write to you. You deserve to know that it was me who made them join in- don't blame them for anything. And I feel like I should finish with what I should have started with.

Sorry for everything.

Daku.

_-- _

**End.**

**Such a good feeling to write 'End'! Anyway, did everyone enjoy it? Worth reading? Feedback much appreciated- tell me anything, what you liked and didn't like about the story, the style, the content. **

**In case anyone's interested, I have a fanfic for Tekken already in the pipeline. It's a response to what I feel are my two big weaknesses as a writing- small casts of characters, and a tendency to get bogged down in sentimentalism. Hopefully the style will be briefer and more to the point than this one, with plenty of fight scenes, subterfuge and gritty confrontation. **

**Also I've been thinking for a while about a short Suite Life fanfic (mostly to try my hand at comedy). Maybe even another fanfic about Australia- it'd be much less spiritual, pretty much a straightforward adventure story. And I'll update my other Australia fanfic, "Walkabout," whenever I get an idea. **


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